


Come As You Aren't

by PaintedGlass



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crossdressing, F/M, Genderbending, Halloween, Smut, Snark, Sneaking Around, Spanking, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-10 17:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedGlass/pseuds/PaintedGlass
Summary: Halloween Aboveground is always such a drag, and this year Sarah is determined to sneak down Underground to celebrate instead. The Goblin King's All Hallow's Eve Ball istheplace to be, with everyone who's anyone in attendance. Surely, Jareth won't notice just one extra guest, even if 'he' just so happens to be the prettiest man at the ball...?





	1. The Clothes Make The Man

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (early) Halloween! If you want to help decide what happens in part two of this story, please see the notes at the end :D

“And you're sure he won't realise it's me?”

Hoggle gave an irritable grunt. His hands were busy, attempting to wrestle her cravat into proper submission. It was the finishing touch on Sarah's outfit, and despite all of his complaining, he was determined for it to look right. “Will ya stop _squirmin_ '? I'm almost done,” he groused. “I can't make no promises, but if you insist on doing something this stupid, then I say you're a lot safer as a pretty young man, rather than a pretty young woman. I've heard about the way the king treats the ladies at these parties of his. Believe you me, you don't want him to see you in high heels and a sweet little dress. He'd eat you alive.”

Sarah's fingers drummed an idle tattoo at her hipbone, over her borrowed waist sash, and she savoured the small vibrations it caused down in the pit of her stomach. Somehow, Hoggle's warning didn't sound half as dire as it should have. She was a grown woman now, and more than capable of dodging the Goblin King's cruel bite, if need be.

 _Or not_.

Sarah smirked to herself. She had caught only fleeting glimpses of the man over the passing years, spoken to him only sparingly, and yet sparks flew even in those brief glances and sparse conversations. It wasn't clear exactly when it had happened, but somewhere along the line, the dynamic between them had changed. Grudges held for far too long were replaced, albeit under protest, by something that almost resembled respect. Anger remained that third, unseen guest whenever the pair of them shared a room, but now there was lust there to divert it. Faced with all those new feelings, it was hard not to imagine just what the Goblin King's sharp teeth – not to mention his _lips_ – would feel like. Not that she would ever get to find out …

“I'm sure I can take him, if it comes down to it,” she said aloud. “I already beat him once.”

Still frowning and fiddling with her collar, Hoggle scoffed. “Yeah, and don't he know it. He can play nice all he wants, but he ain't forgotten about what you did to him. You did well to tell him off, not letting him sucker you in, an' yet here you are going back to play dress-up with all his friends, swanning about bold as brass right under his nose. Are you sure I can't talk some sense into ya? There's still time.” Even as he finally finished with the cravat, the look on his wrinkled face said he knew it was a lost cause. Sarah was already far past convincing.

Every Halloween, she would put hours of thought into the costume she wore, only to end up at some dingy bar or anticlimax of a house party, where people cared more about the booze than they did the true spirit of the holiday. After each disappointment, as she wiped away her make-up and rolled down her stockings, Sarah found herself reminiscing upon that one time she had attended a different sort of social gathering – a glittering masquerade ball that was quite literally out of this world.

Whatever else could be said about the Goblin King's lack of manners towards his guests – not to mention his lack of proper invitations – Sarah had to admit, he threw one hell of a party. What had shocked and overawed her as a teenager now seemed like a missed opportunity; for so long, she had ached for the chance to live that evening all over again, now that she was old enough to really appreciate the fun. How she longed for another taste of that world of magic and mischief – that perfect blend of sensual surrounds and gorgeous music, accompanied by all those strange and fascinating guests. She wanted to be drawn back into that mysterious realm, where just about anything might occur. Just one night of dancing and debauchery would give her back that much-needed kick of spice that she found her life lacking.

Now, over ten years since her time spent Underground, she finally had her chance to go back. She finally got to have her masquerade. It was the night of the Goblin King's annual All Hallow's Eve Ball, and after a lot of asking, pleading, and just plain whining, she had finally worn Hoggle down enough for him to agree to help her attend.

“I'm going, and that's all there is to it,” Sarah told him. “I really appreciate all your help, Hoggle.”

The surly dwarf only grumbled. “Yeah, well I won't be thanking _you_ when you get us both chucked into the Bog of Eternal Stench.”

“It won't come to that, I swear.” She had been on her knees to accept her shorter friend's help with the awkward tie, but now she climbed to her feet and turned to her bedroom mirror. A delighted laugh burst from her when she got her first glimpse at her reflection. She looked like she'd stepped right off the set of some opulent period drama – or at the very least, a corny Adam and the Ants video.

The cravat at her throat, now pulled into a neat, Byronesque knot, was only one piece of her masculine finery. A navy and gold hussar's jacket added breadth to her shoulders and pulled in her waist, the fine white lace that dripped past the jacket's cuffs long enough to brush the base of each finger. Pale blue breeches hugged her hips and thighs, and were finished off by an elegant golden sash, a pair of polished, knee-high leather boots … and a not-so-subtle bit of stuffing that came from the back of her sock drawer.

She had put some real thought into choosing that rolled up pair of socks, feeling like some twisted version of Goldilocks as she sought out a fit that was just right. Some of what her drawer had to offer lacked sufficient girth, while others enhanced her to almost comic proportions; she wanted to look gifted, but not cursed in that department. After further consideration, hands on hips, bulge wedged between her white panties and her borrowed breeches, Sarah had decided that her new masculine persona should dress to the left.

Hoggle had tutted and blushed at what he called a 'needless' addition to her costume, but Sarah had been adamant about that depth of realism. The added weight of a fake cock between her legs even made her _stand_ like a man. She felt tall and confident in her costume, her thighs slightly parted, her hips squared, and her chest puffed out with all the pride of a handsome young rooster. She had forgone a bra that evening, and the combined weight of her shirt and heavy jacket had helped to flatten out her breasts, leaving only soft swells that she hoped would not be too noticeable. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight, sleek queue, emphasising her high cheekbones and the clean cut of her jaw. With just a hint of black around her eyes and a slick of clear gloss to coat her lips, she felt just as elegant as she had been in her lavish ball gown, yet not so overtly feminine.

The Underground as a whole seemed more concerned with beauty and sex appeal than it was with trivial matters such as gender; it occurred to her that, male or female, there were certain to be a fair few pairs of eyes upon her that night, watching her every move. One mismatched pair in particular could easily be her downfall. If she wanted to pass convincingly as anyone other than herself, Sarah knew she had to commit to the role.

It came to her, as she practised walking and talking in front of the mirror, that in both clothing and mannerisms, she was channelling the Goblin King's effortless, androgynous appeal. The thought delighted her. Sneaking into his party was one thing, but doing it in Jareth's own character would make it almost too perfect. She wondered if her mimicry would flatter or infuriate him, or if the promise of a smaller, softer version of himself under all those masculine clothes would arouse something else in him. Even Narcissus had drawn the line at fucking himself, but given Jareth's monumental ego, she was almost certain it would be the latter. After all, she did make for a _very_ pretty Goblin Prince. At the very least, the two of them would be well-matched as lovers, if not brothers, Sarah thought – he the suave and noble owl, and she parading as cock of the walk, strutting and arrogant in all her borrowed plumes. It would almost be a shame not to cast off her faux feathers, just to find out what the Goblin King would make of the woman beneath.

There was one last piece to her lavish costume, and she lifted it from its place upon her dresser with quiet reverence. The mask was executed in the pale creams and browns of unbleached bone – a delicately etched skull that was eerie in its realism. The twisting gold line work and dotted jewels that adorned its cheeks and forehead should have made it gaudy, and yet as they winked and gleamed in the light, the precious gems gave the skull a grim sort of life. Sarah slipped the mask into place and fastened its ties at her nape, hidden by the drop of her hair. The skull's eye sockets were deep and dark enough to offer only a hint of the wearer who looked through them; the jagged ends of its maxillary teeth were high enough not to obscure her sly smile. Despite the cool blue hues of her costume, Sarah knew she would be as ghoulish as Poe's incarnation of the Red Death as she slinked her way past the other guests.

“It looks amazing. Where did you get all this?” she asked Hoggle, once she was through admiring herself.

Her friend grunted and shuffled his feet. “It's probably for the best you don't ask that. I know I don't,” he admitted. “Jareth's goblins like to trade for your plastic baubles as much as I do, but they seem to like stealin' from the king's guests even more, when they can get away with it. A jacket here; a pair of fancy britches there, while some poor sod's sleeping off their hangover at the castle. Hey, wherever they came from, I got them like you asked, didn't I? You'd just best be careful that no one tries to steal them back.”

Sarah smiled, and the skull smiled with her. “I'll be careful. Do you have my invitation?”

Hoggle grumbled and dug into his back pocket. “Forged to perfection, just like m'lady – no, 'scuse me, just like _sir_ – requested.” At last, his hand emerged victorious, and he slapped a gilt edged piece of parchment into Sarah's outstretched palm. “Now remember, if anyone should ask: your name is Martyn. You don't get a last name – would've been too complicated, if someone actually recognised the family we said you were a part of. Now, _Martyn_ , you've travelled all the way from over the Blue Mountains to be at the ball tonight, and 'cause you're from so far away, you don't know nobody there. And, uh … how should I put this? If anyone starts to ask you any real probing stuff about your past, something that might blow your cover, you just look real awkward and you tell 'em your mother never told you who your real father is. That oughta shame them into being less nosy. Hopefully though, folks'll be too drunk to notice any mistakes you make. Oh, and don't you go mentioning _my_ name to anyone, neither. I'm already in enough fairy shite when it comes to you poppin' in and out of the king's gardens while he ain't lookin'.” He looked up at her, frowning. “You got all that?”

She turned back to the mirror and offered her reflection a deep bow, staring out through those dark eye holes as she began to recite. “Good evening, good sir, and I must say just how pleased I am to meet you. My name is Martyn the mysterious, and I hail from over the Blue Mountains and far away. I am the son of no one, and yet I am the friend and lover of many. As an aside, I really hope these aren't your pants that I'm wearing. My tailor – the talented Sir Hoggle, who helped me to be here tonight – did say they might be stolen goods.” She gave Hoggle a bright smile. “How's that?”

Hoggle sighed and scratched beneath his leather cap. “I'd say if we get through tonight without us both ending up soaked to our skins in bog water, it'll be a flamin' miracle. You'll let me know how it goes, won't you? I'm thinkin' of packing up my things and getting a head start towards the Blue Mountains before Jareth catches you, for all the good it'll do me.”

“Oh, don't be such a chicken.” Chuckling, Sarah bent down and pressed a kiss to his leathery forehead. Hoggle began to blush, and looked almost pleased for a moment, before he took another look at her jewelled skull mask and shivered.

“Well, that's me marked by the spectre of death, then. I'd like to say it's been a pleasure, Sarah, but when Jareth catches up to us, it's gonna be nothin' but pain for us both.” He grunted to himself as he made his way over to her bedroom mirror, and back towards his humble home. “Good luck – you'll need it,” he called, and then he was gone.

Sarah smiled and shook her head. Her friends from the Underground were such worrywarts when it came to their king. Not her, though. She welcomed the risk and excitement of skirting the Goblin King's inner circle once more, and would take on whatever new challenges that came her way. Mischief. Mayhem. _Magic_. She whispered the words like a prayer as she raised up her forged invitation in both hands, focussed hard upon her destination, and then disappeared in a gold puff of glitter.

Ten minutes too late, Hoggle reappeared within her bedroom mirror, one heavy hand pounding upon the glass. “Sarah! Sarah, you got to let me back in! Oh, the damned idiots really did it this time! They're all in the pub, just laughing it up. They didn't take 'em from his guests! Do you hear me in there? That coat an' all the other bits didn't come from no visitors to the castle. The soddin' goblins stole them clothes from his majesty himself! Those are _Jareth's_ pants you're in!”

The persistent thud of fist against glass went on and on, but with only the empty room to hear it, the desperate sound was to no avail.

Hoggle called Sarah's name one last time before he let his forehead thunk, defeated, against his side of the mirror. His worried sigh was forceful enough to fog up the glass. “Oh, _hell_ ,” he groaned. “I hope for both our sakes you're just busy looking for a more manly hair tie – or a bigger sock.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the long and short of it is...Jareth's going to want his clothes back, and we all know Sarah isn't wearing much beneath them! Chapter two is definitely going to earn that explicit rating, but the question is: has Sarah been naughty enough to earn herself a Halloween trick, or does she deserve a nice treat for managing to outdress the Goblin King himself? The answer, lovely people of AO3, is entirely up to you!
> 
> I have two different scenarios in mind, but I'm going to be a little bit evil and let you pick just ONE to read. The story's ending will remain the same whichever you choose, but I'm going to let YOU decide whether Sarah gets treated to pure pleasure, or if Jareth spices it up with a little punishment along the way.
> 
> Think about what you want, and let me know in the comments. I'll start writing whichever scenario has the most people on board, probably a week or so before Halloween.
> 
> Part two will be posted on Oct 31st as my little Halloween gift to you...but will it be a trick, or a treat? ;)


	2. Nothing Stands In Your Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy actual Halloween! Did someone say punishment with a little pleasure thrown in...?

It took all of _Martyn's_ nerve to join the long line of guests as it flooded into the main castle. A giant of a man loomed to the right of the imposing double doors, all the more fearsome for the wolf's head mask he wore, but he gave her no special attention. Sarah handed off her forged invitation with what she hoped with a suitably rakish smile, and followed a pair of giggling women down a long, mostly empty corridor. Of course, the castle looked different late at night, with only the odd wall sconce to light the way, but Sarah recalled it well enough to realise where she was. The staircase she passed by with only a fleeting glance would have taken her right up to the Goblin King's throne room, if she dared to climb it a second time. It annoyed her to realise just how _close_ she had been, back then – how Jareth had chosen to taunt her through that tainted peach with a glimpse inside the very heart of his lair, while she sat, delirious, miles away, falling further and further behind in her quest through his labyrinth. So near and yet so far. She decided that, if the Goblin King tried to mess with her fun that evening, it would be _him_ she put through one of his tall mirrors, and not a chair.

It was a satisfying thought, but not one that suited Martyn's character – particularly if she wanted to keep his true identity a secret. She had to settle for being charming yet unobtrusive for the time being, following a respectful distance behind the women who walked in front of her and glanced back over their shoulders, and who giggled all the harder when Sarah smiled and winked at them.

The ballroom was as grand as she remembered, but just like her, it had left all pretence at innocence behind. Gone were the pristine whites and glistening chandeliers of years ago; the room was dressed for the season, draped in vivid oranges and rich, golden browns, but everywhere Sarah turned, she saw the darker shades of mischief. The room's high ceiling had been lowered significantly, and it was criss-crossed with the thick and winding limbs of trees, to make a canopy of sorts. Woven amongst the branches were strands of black ribbon and lace, and glittering chains of gold that were heavy with garnets and fire opals and tiger's eyes. Scattered candles gave the room a hazy, dreamlike glow, but every so often one of the guttering flames would flare a deep purple or sometimes black, stealing more light than it emitted. Even the mirrors lining the walls had a strange murkiness to them, as if staring into them for too long might coax something from deep within to stare back.

Several guests had chosen to take advantage of the mood music and sparse lighting, reduced to vague and primitive shapes that danced and writhed, and sometimes even _moaned_ in the dark. Sarah squinted to see the edges of the room, but was rewarded with yet more darkness – an abyss of secrets, where any thing, or anyone might lurk, just watching, waiting for her. She caught more than one luminous, leering pair of eyes staring back at her from the shadows, and she laughed when she recognised them as simple jack-o'-lanterns – though she still held her suspicions. A little edginess was par for the course that night, given what she was getting herself into.

The floor beneath her feet was a deep and endless black, polished to a high sheen, and so her reflection kept pace beneath her. That sense of stepping onto herself was hard to get used to, and caused her to stumble more than once, but to her luck there were plenty of other guests who were willing to catch her. The Underground had managed to lure her back, and now it seemed happy for her to stay. Sarah breathed it all in: the smell of spice and smoke, cider and pumpkins, and that potent sizzle of untamed magic in the air. _This_ was Halloween. This was her night to let loose.

It was both flattering and a little embarrassing to have been so right; despite his ghoulish mask, the handsome man she portrayed that night drew in admirers like a magnet. Being surrounded by a host of magical, near mythical creatures was one of the most wondrous things Sarah could imagine, but at times it felt like she was the main attraction in the room. The other guests were so beautiful, enchanting, and yet they accepted just an ordinary human as one of their own. She found herself pulled from all sides, making countless introductions, and even being drawn into a dance or two by some of the more persistent guests.

It was easy to imagine just how Jareth lived his life, surrounded by beauty and admiration, and endless flattery. Though she didn't touch even a crumb of the food they offered her, nor a drop of drink, Sarah felt drunk on the attention all the same. She slipped further and further into her new persona as she brushed shoulders with the Underground's elite; Martyn caused quite a stir, full of roguish charm and wit, and filthy innuendo. Sarah felt cocky and impossibly confident, flirting with anything with a pulse, charming all of the ladies and a fair few of the men. It thrilled her to prove that the Goblin King might not be the fairest one at the ball that night after all – wherever he was hiding. In his absence, it felt good to be king.

An evil picture came to Sarah's mind. In it, she had stolen the Goblin King's throne for herself, and sat sprawled across its seat with one of Jareth's female admirers in _her_ lap instead, as the true king stood by and seethed with envy. How regal she would look, arrogant and aloof in that position of total power. She could imagine the dark look on Jareth's face as he drank in every stolen caress and heated kiss; she saw just how his posture would tighten with lust and rage as humiliation waged war with his need to see more. It shocked her, just how much she liked the idea, of just how _good_ it felt to be a man, and yet the growing wetness and deepening ache between her thighs was a constant reminder of how much better it felt to be a woman.

She hadn't planned on scratching an itch that night, but the constant attention and the countless admiring glances she received – some sly and secret, others bold and unabashed – began to take their toll on her senses. It was arousing to find herself so welcomed, so _wanted_ , and more than once she found herself contemplating the possibility of enjoying at least a kiss or two in Martyn's handsome guise. She knew it wouldn't be difficult to find someone willing; someone whose lips would move with passion against her own, kissing her, consuming her, dipping down her neck to devour her …

Realising it was _Jareth's_ cruel mouth she had begun to imagine against her skin brought her to a sudden halt. Her current dance partner – a sweet young blonde in an elegant black and silver panther's mask – jerked to an abrupt stop also. At once, _Martyn_ was full of apologies, begging the woman's forgiveness. Sarah slipped away from the dance floor in the small gap between songs. She needed enough space to sort her mind out, and to assess those dangerous thoughts she'd been having. Unfortunately, a packed ballroom wasn't the best place to be. There was no privacy to be had when everyone wanted a piece of her, and whenever Sarah excused herself from one conversation, she had no time to spare before she was urged into the next.

Her mind whipped up yet more visions of Jareth – visions in which he leaned over her shoulder to mock her current predicament in one ear, before whispering into the other just how much he'd like to eat her. They were tempting and vivid enough to make her worry that he'd found some way to slip inside her thoughts; several times, she felt _something_ sneaking just beyond her vision, but whenever she glanced back over her shoulder, there was no one there. It was another game of cat and mouse, of playing peekaboo with the devil through the jostling crowd, but Sarah promised herself that a little worry about being caught wouldn't force her to end her evening on a sour note. Jareth was sure to be curious about the new man who had turned so many heads that evening, but her disguise was good enough to hold up under his scrutiny. If he finally decided to confront her – _when_ he decided to confront her – it would be easy enough for Martyn to slip away through the crowd, if needed. For the time being, she didn't mind being hunted at the Goblin King's leisure. Sarah decided she liked baiting him.

She moved both in and out of the shadows, but no matter where she went there was that certainty of being watched. It was a thrill in itself, thinking of him watching her, waiting, taking sneaking sips of her anticipation and excitement until he deemed her ripe enough to pluck. She imagined his eyes on her with every move that she made, and it made every swing of her hips that bit more brazen, and urged her to lean that little bit closer to whisper in her dance partner's ear. That twisted desire to be found – _caught_ – led her to be more bold, to schmooze her way deeper into Jareth's circle of friends, ears pricking up at every mention of the absent king. It had been well over an hour since she had slipped back into the Underground, and she had yet to set eyes on her host. She began to grow restless. He had to be hiding somewhere. Deep down, beneath the disguise and the carefree attitude, a part of her was counting on it. On this particular jaunt into the Goblin King's domain, she was looking for danger. Oh, how she began to hope it was looking for her.

Sarah eyed the glowing jack-o'-lanterns again, noting every jagged grin, each searing stare, and she wondered.

She continued to flirt with the risk of running into him long after common sense should have prevailed. Though the Goblin King's vast ballroom she strode, walking tall and fearless, approaching the women herself now, talking, dancing, laughing as all the while the clock counted down to the end of her dangerous game. She saw so many new faces, learned so many new names, that they all began to blur into one, such a busy social butterfly as she was. In all, she managed to blend in with the crowd for what was almost another full hour, seeing all she could see, breathing in all the magic and wonder she could bear, before the Goblin King finally came to put an end to the charade.

A bunch of them sat, she amongst them, at the room's dark edge, draped over comfortable black and gold cushions, smooth leather ottomans, and antique rococo chairs. Sarah was seated in one of the latter, a picture of masculine insouciance with her chin in one hand, and with one booted foot slung neatly over one of the chair's gilded armrests. She was chuckling at the end of a filthy story involving a dryad, a chicken, and a rogue pack of centaurs, when the demand for her to drink started up again. She had already passed up the hookah and the circling plates of canapés, and her new friends saw her necessary precautions as foolish politeness.

“Oh, _do_ join us, Martyn,” one of her new women friends begged, as she tugged upon Sarah's arm. “Just a sip or two. Surely they must have white wine in … oh, where did you say you were from?”

“I didn't,” Sarah replied, in the purring baritone she had adopted for herself. “But that's only because I don't want you lovely ladies to follow me home and find out about my wife and three mistresses.”

The group tittered at her cheek, and forgot to quiz her on Martyn's background – just as Sarah hoped would happen – but they did not let up on the topic of drinking. The same woman tapped Sarah's arm again and thrust out her own recently filled goblet. “Have some,” she demanded. “You're making me look like the most _dreadful_ lush.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I'm drunk enough on your beauty, love.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, piffle! Have some, you _deplorable_ flirt, you.”

Starting to feel a little cornered, Sarah gave the woman a weaker smile. “I … uhm … I don't really indulge that often, if I'm honest. Back home, we … er … aren't big drinkers.”

“Psh! Nonsense! I've never heard of such a ridiculous thing. Martyn, you will have a mouthful of this wine right this instant, or else-”

“My dear Isabella, you and I both know that those in your company drink to excess only because you _drive_ them to it.”

The interruption was softly-spoken, and full of mischief rather than true malice, but that new male voice was familiar enough to curdle Sarah's blood; after all, hadn't she tried to curl Martyn's smooth tongue around the same sounds? She shuddered a little, but not quite in fear. The Goblin King was standing right behind her, and she knew there and then that the game was up. A part of her wanted to shoot up from her seat, face growing hotter behind her mask as she stumbled over her apologies, but that was not what the girl who had once defeated him would do. Instead, she sat back in her seat. She let her booted foot swing back down to the floor, but remained facing resolutely forwards. Jareth loomed behind her.

The woman – Isabella – tinkled laughter. “Oh, you cruel thing, Sire! Were you planning on leaving us to fend for ourselves all evening? Your guests have missed you! Oh, and don't you look _divine?_ ”

“Not as lovely as you, I'm sure. It's a treat to see everyone looking their best." Jareth moved closer, until Sarah was certain she could feel the heat he radiated. It would explain away the hot flush that had begun to creep its way up her neck. The fine hairs along her nape crackled with his proximity. “Yes, you'll have to forgive me,” he said. “I received word that one of the invitations my guards collected tonight was a forgery. Thankfully, our rude trespasser has already been found … and dealt with.” His hand clapped down upon her right shoulder, making Sarah jerk in her seat. “Ah, _Martyn_. Good _man._ I'm thrilled you decided to join us. It's been far too long, I believe, since I saw you last – and never like _this_.”

Sarah swallowed down a groan. “Sire.” She shivered as the Goblin King squeezed her shoulder. She couldn't see him, but just having him in her ears had given her all kinds of new problems to deal with. The moment he had touched her, both of her hands had clamped down upon the armrests of her chair, and now it seemed almost unthinkable to let them go again. With the Goblin King's fingers mere inches from her throat, she needed the support.

Isabella patted the rigid length of her forearm, but made no mention of the tension there. “Isn't Martyn's mask a _scream_? So elegant and yet so eerie, and so realistic I'm almost afraid it might bite me. As I said to Cyrene earlier, that sort of sinister design would be _just_ to His Majesty's taste. Don't you think so, Sire?”

Jareth made a soft sound of assent. His hand remained in place, but a single finger began to move, drawing playful circles that seared their way into Sarah's skin, even through the thickness of her borrowed clothing. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was to wear something very similar tonight, but unfortunately my mask seems to have gone missing, along with some of my clothes.” Those sinful little circles stopped, and he gave Sarah's shoulder another meaningful squeeze. “You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, _Martyn_?”

Sarah swallowed down a dry cough, wishing that she'd taken up that offer of a drink after all. A little magical wine couldn't have gotten her in any deeper than she now was. Jareth definitely had her number. Not only did he know for certain who was hiding under the jewelled skull mask, it turned out he actually _owned_ said mask, and possibly the rest of her stolen outfit as well. She sank down further into her seat as all her bravado slipped from her, like air from a dying balloon. It crossed her mind to tell Hoggle to find thieves with more than a single braincell spread thin between them, before she realised there might _be_ no next time – not for her. She had no clever response for him, and the room seemed to grow quieter around her by the second. Jareth was the last person she expected to save her from the embarrassment. He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat as he laughed, and the other guests laughed along with their king.

“I'm joking, of course. It is a fine mask, though. You should introduce me to its maker, sometime.” The threat towards whoever had stolen the thing to begin with was plain, despite his warm tone. Before Sarah could reply, he leaned down over her, the soft tails of his hair brushing the side of her throat, making her gasp. The new closeness between them threw her mind into wild, wonderful panic, but it was Isabella that Jareth had his eye on. He reached out a hand towards her, curling his fingers, welcoming the goblet. Sarah wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he stood tall again, lifting the vessel out of her reach to take a sniff. “White currant wine, isn't it? I believe our dear Martyn might just prefer peach. I'm afraid I might have gotten him hooked on the taste of peaches – so much so that he just _insists_ on coming back for more. I, however, quite enjoy the taste of something new, every now and again.”

Breathing hard, Sarah turned to watch him as he drained the cup in three long swallows. He was the only one in the room who did not hide behind a mask. He didn't need it. From his forehead to the cupid's bow of his mouth, his face was dappled in what appeared to be gold leaf. His piercing eyes were ringed with black, and dark sweeps across the tip of his nose and the hollows of his cheeks transformed him into the skull that Sarah had unintentionally stolen from him. There was a faint sheen of silver to his mouth, and when Sarah looked closer, she saw the clear outline of teeth painted there. Jareth smiled at the attention she paid him, seeming almost to preen in his bold scarlet and gold tailcoat and matching breeches. With his wicked grin, he _was_ Poe's Red Death; however, unlike Prospero, Sarah already knew him for the danger that he was. She stared at him, and in all his gilded and frightful glory, the Goblin King stared back. Those dark circles made his eyes seem all the more blue, eternal and all-knowing. He saw everything.

Sarah only saw that she was completely, positively _fucked_.

Jareth set the goblet aside and took his time in licking his lips as he gazed at her. With desperate giddiness, Sarah told herself that it was just because of the wine. She couldn't fool herself, though. The Goblin King looked _hungry_. He fraternised with the other guests for several minutes, but it was her his eyes kept coming back to. Sarah got the distinct feeling that those few pointed comments he had made weren't the last she would hear from him that evening. One look at his painted face told her that he had every intention of dealing with her transgressions. It was only a matter of time. All it took was another server bringing wine, another of Sarah's polite refusals, for Jareth to make his move.

“Martyn,” he said at last. “I believe I have some of what you're craving in storage.” Where he pointed stood a small wooden door – one Sarah was sure hadn't been there only a moment ago. “Come, walk with me. We have a lot of catching up to do, and I insist that you tell me _everything_.” He did not need to explain that it was a private invitation.

As he led her into the unknown, the Goblin King more than affirmed his place as ruler of the roost; he kissed cheeks and hands with easy confidence, throwing in the odd word here and there just to spice things up. Even the smallest exchange left his subjects staring after him in open adoration. Sarah had to admit – reluctantly, as most of her admissions about Jareth tended to be – the man knew how to work a room. She caught herself both aping his self-assured strut, and admiring the luscious little curves of his ass beneath those tightest of pants. Jareth turned and winked at her when they reached their destination; though the mirrors they walked past were cloudy, they still told him exactly where her eyes had been lingering.

Of course, there was no storeroom. The place Jareth led her to did not even seem to be part of the same castle. With the door safely closed behind the pair of them, shrouding them in silence, it was as if the party they had just come from no longer existed. It was darker there – not pitch black, despite the room's lack of windows, or any visible light source, but Sarah was forced to squint just to see the man in front of her. Given the circumstances, she hardly dared take her eyes off him. It was hard to gauge the size of the room when the walls around her shifted and pulsed in the dim light; cavernous and inhospitable one moment, and yet almost cosy, warm and womb-like in the next. Sarah drew in several shallow, nervous breaths before she realised that the walls seemed to be breathing along with her. They knew her fear, and so did he. Whatever sinister corner of his lair this was, it would be the perfect place for the Goblin King to make an unwelcome guest just … disappear. When he turned back to her, smiling, it was clear that Jareth knew it too.

“I can explain,” she said in her own voice, giving up the pretence.

“Oh, I doubt that.” Jareth's eyes gleamed in the darkness. To Sarah's dismay, the scant lighting made the fine features of his face all the more striking in his gold and black. He made for a frighteningly seductive ghoul. “You've come to a world that isn't yours, an invitation-only ball you were most certainly _not_ invited to, and even the clothes on your back aren't your own. I'd say that defies explanation, not to mention good sense, wouldn't you? To come here uninvited, unaccompanied, to a place where you once almost lost everything …” He shook his head in a mockery of disappointment, but oh, how those eyes still glittered. His smile was sickeningly sweet, and it dripped with false pity. “Did you want to play at being the king, love? Did you wish to sit upon my throne to rule over all, and see what it felt like to have the kingdom's collective mouth around your cock? I'm afraid it isn't as easy as I make it look – though I'll admit, it has been amusing to witness your impersonation of me.”

“I … I never meant to be _you_ , exactly,” she lied. “I just figured that was how all the men acted around here.” She ran a self-conscious hand over her hair. “Just a disguise. I just … wanted to be here without you finding out.”

“And what exactly did you come here looking for, Sarah? What did you expect to find?”

“A good time.” She'd had that and more, mixing with the Underground's elite, sharing in their laughter and their dancing. What she couldn't explain to the sneering Goblin King was that she now wanted something more – something that had played out in the safe spaces of her mind so often before, and yet now, trapped with him in the dark, seemed infinitely sweeter, and much more attainable. “That's all I wanted. Fun.”

Jareth broke into an unexpected smile. “ _Fun._ ” He raked the word over the wicked little points of his teeth, leaving its meaning twisted and bleeding on those cruel and beautiful lips. Sarah thought again about being devoured by him. “I believe we could both find plenty of that here tonight,” he said, still smiling. “Just the two of us.”

He kept a respectful distance from her, at least for the moment, but she had seen for herself just how quickly he could move. _Her_ eyes would remain trained on him until she could be certain he presented no danger – _if_ she could ever be certain, with him.

“It's been several years since you last put yourself in a situation this … precarious, Sarah. Had I not recognised you, if I had suspected some impudent young lad of stealing what belongs to me instead, the evening might have taken a rather unpleasant turn.”

Despite the trouble she was already in, Sarah laughed in his face. She had forgotten how good it felt to stand up to the domineering king. “What, would you have asked me to step outside if I really was a man? Would we have duelled? Spare me the macho bullshit. If I'd have known you wanted to cross swords so much, I would have packed myself a harder dick.”

Jareth shook his head and graced her with an indulgent smile. “So very crude, but I think that's part of what I enjoy about you. Always so direct – no secrets and no shame. We always get right down to business, don't we, love? And you've left me no room to play tricks; I see you've had the sense to avoid consuming anything while you've been here – clever girl. You're learning. Always better to play it _safe_.” The way he uttered that last word made her feel anything but. “Tell me: how are you enjoying my hospitality this evening? Honestly, if I'd have known you were coming, I'd have brought a peach.”

She didn't bat an eyelid. “Oh, I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble on my account. Let's just say a little bird told me just how hard you had to work to restore the castle, after my last visit.”

“The only sweet little bird I see here tonight is you, precious. Which begs the question: which one of your delightful friends helped you to sneak back here in the first place? I know the large one doesn't possess the brains, and the small one just doesn't have the required devious streak in his nature. I suppose that just leaves good old Higgle in the middle for me to punish.”

“It's Hog-” Sarah shook her head. “You know what? It doesn't matter. _I_ insisted on coming here tonight, so I'm to blame. Ban me from the castle, or banish me from your kingdom, if that's what you really want. You've already ruined the fun of tonight anyway.”

The Goblin King pouted and gave a mocking bow of his head. “Now, that's a pity. Don't you want to stay and see what happens after the dancing stops? I'm sure there are a lot of my guests who are most excited for the unveiling. The masks come off at midnight, love, and they're all keen to see the 'man' hiding behind yours – as am I.”

Sarah blew out air through her nose. “You want your precious mask back? Fine. Take it.”

She had the cursed thing off in a matter of seconds, and she tossed it at his chest. Jareth caught it one-handed. For a moment, his gleaming grin matched that of the jewelled skull. He set the mask down in the empty air by his side, where it crumbled to little more than gleaming specks of dust, which then winked out of sight. Sarah's mouth fell open in dismay.

“I wouldn't have given it back if I knew you were just going to waste it like that.”

“I think you know very well that the mask isn't all I want from you, Sarah.” The look in his eyes had her cheeks trying to turn red, but there was nothing she could do to fight against the rising heat. It was hard to hold her ground with him moving closer, his eyes dipping down along her body with clear intent, but she didn't give to him – not even an inch. “In spite of what you may think, given this recurring business between you and I, it's not often those of my kind repeat themselves. We won't be seen dead in the same mask twice, at one of these balls. It held no sentimental value for me, and I won't bemoan the fact that I wasn't the one to show it off this evening. I will, however, have to insist on the return of the rest of my property.”

Sarah prayed to anyone who might be listening that her heart didn't make a sound as it splashed down into her stomach. Suspicion had been creeping along her spine ever since she had found out who the mask's true owner was. For the second time that night, she cursed Hoggle for not finding better thieves. Flaunting an entire outfit stolen from the Goblin King's own closet was a step too far, even for her. Jareth had every right to demand his clothes back; hell, she'd even make sure they were freshly laundered and neatly folded for him first, but she had the distinct impression that he wouldn't be willing to wait that long. Surrendering any amount of clothing to the alluring king would be a mistake, given how his proximity alone was making her heart race. It wasn't _him_ she didn't trust, right then.

“Oh, the clothes?” she asked, pulling her stolen jacket – his jacket – a little tighter. “You bet, first thing after I get home, I'll throw them in the machine. Quick wash cycle, tumble in the dryer, and then they're all yours, good as new.” Her head told her to stop there, but her tongue just kept on going. “Unless they're as soft and delicate as your ego, in which case I guess I'll have to get them dry-cleaned.”

Jareth closed in until the tips of his boots nearly touched hers, forcing her to tilt her head back just to meet his eyes. “How adorable. I'm curious if your sense of humour will hold out when I have you naked before me – because I'm going to need my clothes back _now_.”

Sarah didn't know whether to snarl at him or reach up to kiss him as he leaned closer still. One of his hands rose up and made a beeline for her smoothed-down chest, and she just let it. Her breath caught and held as she pictured him removing that jacket, unhooking buttons from their eyes, seeking out the warm skin beneath all her clothes, but Jareth made no move to undress her; he wanted her to suffer through the humiliation of doing it herself.

His fingertips caught and strummed at the tail end of her cravat. “This belongs to me. Would you care to remove it?”

She had witnessed his need to command, to control before; long ago, he had told her not to defy him, and though she had not obeyed, neither had she understood the way those words had made her tummy just _wrench_ , back then. There was little he could do now if she chose to defy him again, little he could offer her in the way of persuasion other than more idle threats, or pleas for compliance, or the great and dangerous gift of her dreams. In spite of herself, she wanted that gift now, wanted all those secret dreams and welcomed them. She welcomed _him_. It took little effort to bend her fingers to his command, plucking at the carefully tied knot.

Watching her, the Goblin King smiled his dark smile. He waited as she unwound the cravat from around her neck, making no effort to take the accessory from her when she was through. Left with no other choice, and with the secret urge to let something that belonged to him just lie in the dirt, Sarah let it drop to the floor. She felt the smallest stab of satisfaction in her gut, but her token show of defiance did not seem to affect him. She had already chosen to obey, and that outweighed all else. He only nodded in acknowledgement and went on to pluck at the right shoulder of her jacket. “Also mine. Take it off.”

There were at least a hundred gold buttons on that damned jacket, so it seemed, and she had to work each one open with hands that weren't quite steady. She kept her eyes on her task, watching only the fumbling of her fingers as the world closed in around her. Her breathing turned short and shallow, driving the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her pulse escalating notch by notch until it drummed in her ears and all those secret, hidden places that seemed to cry out for his touch. She shuddered as Jareth slipped behind her to help her shrug the jacket off. It made a soft sound as it, too, tumbled to the floor, but Sarah hardly heard it over her own heaving breaths. She refused to let him see just how much she wanted him, right then. She stood perfectly still as Jareth fingered the silk ribbon in her hair.

“Hmm, this doesn't appear to be mine, but it's so dreadfully formal, don't you think? Why don't we let down your hair, dear Sarah? This is a party, after all.”

He eased the tension from her head with a gentle touch, first freeing her from the ribbon's confinement, and then going on to finger-comb her hair back into a looser, more natural state. The warm brush of his fingertips against her neck and scalp had her ready to purr like a kitten. Jareth seemed to be enjoying himself too; the massage gave him good cause to eliminate all distance between them, and Sarah could feel him all along the length of her back. The smallest buck of his hips made it clear he was getting off on her submission. A normal lover might have let her share in his arousal, letting her grind against that gratifying hardness and revel in the alignment of their bodies, but her cruel king drew back too soon.

She was made to balance awkwardly in front of him, swaying and hopping on one foot at a time, all so that she could slip off both of his tall boots. Jareth made her stand there, barefoot on the cold floor as he perused her body, no doubt deciding which part was to be unveiled next. Unwilling to be put at a disadvantage, Sarah took the opportunity to eye him up as well. Though all of the room's meagre light now seemed to be upon her, making him harder to see out of the spotlight, she could tell that he was hard for her. He was excited just from being in control – from making her wait for his next command. As needy as she was for something, _anything_ more from him, Sarah had to push him into action.

“What's the matter, Goblin King? Suffering from a little cock envy?” she teased.

Jareth sniffed laughter. “Don't be cheeky – you're already in enough trouble. Hmm, I think the breeches, next. Call it an aesthetic indulgence, but there's just something about seeing a woman in one of my shirts and little else.”

Sarah shimmied out of those tight leggings, feeling hopelessly weak as she obeyed, feeling _sexy_ as she bared herself to him, peeling the clinging fabric down each leg. The heavy lace shirt fell to mid-thigh, preserving most of her modesty, but the rolled-up pair of socks she had stored inside the trousers went tumbling to the floor – a theatrical show of emasculation that had the Goblin King shaking with silent amusement. He kicked the socks aside and then approached her with a smirk on his lips and lust in his eyes. He squeezed her shoulder in passing as he circled around her body again to admire her from all angles. Having him behind her again played merry hell with her nerves; out of sight, he was a predator in the dark, the delicious and terrible unknown that kept her heart thumping.

“Are you going to make me stand here while you stare at my ass all night, or can I go now?” she demanded, but her voice, like her willpower, held little strength – especially when Jareth came to press against her from behind. The unsubtle push of his hips against her bottom all but forced the air from her. He felt much harder than he had only minutes ago.

“Oh, come now, Sarah, don't let's play games. You know as well as I do who holds the power here. A simple phrase, a single proclamation, and you could be tucked up in bed at home, almost able to believe that this was all just a wishful dream. Don't pretend that this isn't turning you on.”

She couldn't hold back a snort. He had her pegged. “Yeah, well I know I'm not the only one.” The tiniest gyration of her hips pressed her more firmly against the growing weight of his erection. “You seem to be enjoying this outfit – _your_ outfit – a little too much.”

Jareth chuckled, hot and humid, into her ear. “Do you really think you'd be any safer from me in a dress? I've wanted to make you mine from the minute you walked back into my life, precious thing. I'd fuck you if you were wearing a burlap sack.” His teasing mouth drew back, and she could feel him staring down between their bodies, his hands resting on her waist as he guided himself into her again, thrusting up against her ass through the increasingly thin layers that still separated them. He sighed his pleasure into her neck before he finally let her go. “But I'd much rather fuck you in nothing at all. Take off the shirt.”

He stood before her and eyed her bare breasts as they were revealed, a smirk on his lips and that enduring gleam still in his eyes. Every drawn-out minute of this was his victory. He had to see just how hard her nipples were – just how much her body had already begun to respond to him. His eyes slipped lower. With the shirt's remaining cover gone, her belly, hips and thighs were on full display for him, along with her white lace panties. Those raised an eyebrow.

“All innocent in white, pet? I don't think so. You've already proven your true colours tonight. Take them off, and show me what you have for me beneath them.”

Sarah whimpered at the back of her throat, hardly caring if he heard it. She was excited, humiliated, and beyond turned on. It was hard to meet his eyes once she had slipped off the underwear, especially knowing how wet she was already. “For you?”

“ _Yes._ ” Jareth all but hissed the word as he stepped back in to her, teeth flashing in a feral smile. He did not draw her into his arms, but he slipped one hand down between her legs, cupping her as she jerked and let loose a low groan. He continued to come forwards, effectively backing her up against the nearest wall, but with his fingers finally on her, she went willingly. “You've stolen enough from me, wicked Sarah, and now it's time for you to give back,” he purred as those agile fingers parted and caressed her. He found the swollen bud of her clitoris and pressed down, teasing her with slow, steady circles, before searching out her slick, needy entrance. “Now, precious thing, this hot, _drenched_ little cunt belongs entirely to me.”

She did not make a sound as his fingers first penetrated her. All she was capable of was allowing her head to tip back against the wall, her shoulders slumped back with it as those long digits took her, stretched her, _filled_ her. He was inside her, moving, stroking her, urging his way deeper and deeper inside of her with every firm press of his hand. A choked sound finally forced its way past her locked throat, and the Goblin King gave his own low murmur with it. She was his at last.

He touched her just long enough to make her complacent, certain of her inevitable climax, and then he drew back, letting the sweet warmth he had kindled die down. She gaped at him, in surprise and in bitter disappointment, and oh, how he laughed at her. “Oh, Sarah. Did you really think I'd let you come so soon – so easily? I want to hear you _beg_ , first.” His satisfied smirk just wouldn't die as he slid his slick fingers between his lips, savouring for a moment the taste of her honey. His smirk widened as he offered his glistening fingers to her for a taste. “No? Well, I suppose you'll already know just how delicious all this is for me, won't you? So very _sweet_.”

Still panting from the climax she had been denied, letting the wall hold up her body as it sagged, Sarah scowled at him. “You couldn't just let this be a normal hook up, could you? You couldn't just let us both – god forbid – _enjoy_ this.”

Jareth raised his eyebrows. “Oh, wasn't I clear? I'm already enjoying myself immensely. I know I should spank you for your ongoing insolence – I think you'd like that – but I'm finding this all a little too fun to get right down to the business of your punishment. Besides, you didn't come here because you were seeking something _normal_.” He spat the word as if the concept alone disgusted him, but that indolent smile was back soon enough. “You came here because you wanted _me_.”

It was pointless to deny it. “I'd want you more if you weren't such an asshole,” Sarah grumbled.

The insult drew more light laughter from him. “You're only pouting because you haven't gotten your own way. Always such a demanding thing. Let's not forget all the wrongs you've done me, before we take care of anything else.” He took her hand in his and turned her with a dancer's careful touch, leaving her with her back to him, and the tips of her breasts brushing the wall. She gasped, and he pressed in behind her to increase the contact. He took each of her hands in turn, raising them up so that her palms were braced upon the wall above her head, leaving the rest of her body completely vulnerable to him. “I think,” he said into her ear, “you might even have come here tonight in search of danger. Is that true, love? Did you come to me, perhaps _wanting_ to get hurt?”

He nuzzled into her neck, warming her, thrilling her with the soft graze of his lips, but before she could grow too attached to the affection, he bit down – hard. Sarah jerked in her prone position, face upturned with the sudden pain, and he rewarded her with a couple of quick and stinging slaps to each breast, catching her with just the tips of his long fingers. It left her nipples tingling and rock hard, and aching for more of his touch. Jareth was only too happy to oblige her. He cupped her in both hands, letting his thumbs tease circles around the stiff peaks as he nipped and sucked at her neck.

“ _Lovely_ tits,” he murmured into her ear, his voice sweet and rich and low, and yet just condescending enough to set her pushing away from the wall to free herself – though it was a token effort, at best. The firm press of his hips against her ass kept her pinned in place. Jareth, of course, soothed the worst of her rage with his talented hands as he continued to taunt her. Every soft flick, every little tug of those fingers at her breasts darted down through her core to throb at her clit. “One benefit of having your own body, rather than a man's.” Here, she heard him chuckle into her hair. “However attractive that man might have been. You've tried so hard to confuse and anger me tonight with your little drag act, haven't you? All these silly games of petty theft, and dress-up, and make-believe. You wanted to work your way under my skin, when I've already done such a nice job of slipping my way inside _you_ , instead. I'm not angry, pet; I think it's all rather delicious – as are you. Let me assure you that I couldn't be happier. I've been given such a beautiful toy to play with tonight – a gorgeous woman who's already soaking wet, waiting for me to touch her properly. It's a far cry from the cocky young man I met earlier, isn't it?”

He tapped at her breasts again, forcing a high-pitched cry from her throat. “Yes, that's beautiful, pet. _Very_ much a woman. However, if you really want to explore your masculine side, there are certain darker shades of magic that we might use to … hmm, on second thoughts, no. I think having you as anyone other than your _true_ self would feel cheap and wrong, in comparison. It's _you_ I intend to have tonight, and no one else.”

His arrogance sickened her, even as she thrust herself into his hands. Her body, at least, was more than ready for him to have her. “Oh, fuck _you_ ,” she groaned out.

The sound he made into her ear was somewhere between a disapproving tut and the soft pucker of a kiss. “ _Tch-tch-tch_. Patience, darling girl. Don't fret. You'll get your precious fucking soon enough. I never tease too long when it comes to pussy, no matter how much of a naughty girl you've been tonight. Bad _boys_ , however …”

He wrapped his arms tightly around her middle as he poured filth into her ear, pausing every now and then to tease at her breasts. “Such a delicate, pretty boy might like to be petted, perhaps spoiled a bit. He might like it if I kissed his plush lips and stroked his soft hair … and then began to touch him, slowly, and ever so gently at first. He might want to feel my hands trail all over his body, on him and in him, caressing, _priming_ , loosening him up for me with my fingers and tongue until his cheeks are rosy red, and he's panting my name. He's just so sweet and innocent, so _shy_ about his desires, but he knows that despite his embarrassment, there's one thing he needs more than anything. He wants to be full of me – so full that he's slick and swollen from my use, and positively _dripping_ with my come. But before that, sweet Sarah, what he needs is to be shown, without a doubt, just who is in charge. He needs me to take control, holding him by the hips as I slowly introduce him to my cock.”

He parted from her only to reach down to free himself from his breeches, and then he matched his actions to his words, tightening his hold on her as the two of them began to rock together, skin to bare skin. That rigid length of him branded her lower back, and then, as he bent at the knees, slid along the crease of her bottom.

“He can feel how large it is – how thick – as it splits his cheeks open and teases along his tender slit … and he _loves_ it. Both of us can feel his hot little hole twitching, begging for me just to push my way inside. Oh, he _needs_ me in him, but more than that, he wants to hear me tell him what a _good_ boy he is as I bend him over, easing him further and further forwards until he's spread wide open for me, and totally at my mercy. How he'll _beg_ for it as I make his arse _mine_. Mmm, and can you imagine just how tight he'll be? Can you picture the way he'll twist and moan as I push my way inside, wanting to force me out and draw me even deeper at the same time? Is that what _you_ want, _Martyn_? To have my cock deep inside you … _here_?”

By then, Sarah was nearly a simmering puddle at the Goblin King's boots. She had never been ass-fucked in her whole life – had never let past boyfriends sneak so much as a well-lubed fingertip in there – but now … now she hung limp in her king's arms, ready for him to have all of her, willing to let him do _anything_. She had to have him inside her. There was no preparation, none of the sweet stroking and slow caresses he had spoken of; there was only the wide tip of his cock against her slight hole, and yet still she gasped out, “Oh, yes. _Please_ , god _yes_.”

Her plea was his cue, and she just knew he had a smile on his face as he pulled back. Sarah almost howled at the denial, letting her hands drop to her sides in despair. It must have hurt him too, knowing how hard he was, but he was relentless in his need for absolute control. “It hurts, doesn't it, to be denied what you want – especially when you were so very close to having it all. I'd sympathise with you, love, but you haven't earned my pity – yet. First, I want to punish you for your actions tonight, and if you can be a good girl and take it all, then you'll get your reward.” His hands slid over the smooth globes of her bottom as she wiggled against him.

“What do you mean by 'punish'?” she asked, though she already had a good idea. He had already hinted at it, after all, but she sensed that he _wanted_ her to ask; he wanted to know just how far her longing and curiosity would take them that night. When Jareth spoke again, she could hear his evil little smile.

“Why, a spanking, of course. Just the sting of my hand, and this gorgeous arse of yours,” he said as he began to rub and squeeze her, before gripping her left buttock hard enough to make her moan. “If you were truly mine, as wilful and disobedient as this, intent on pushing my patience, you'd have the privilege of me taking you over my knee – but alas, I have no power over you. Isn't that right, precious? I'm not your true Master. I suppose we'll have to settle for the wall, then. Touch it again – lower, this time. I want you to bend over for me, palms flat against the wall – yes, that's it – and arch your body out towards me. Feet apart. _Wider_ , Sarah. Don't make me ask again.”

Her face flushed hot as she obeyed, but with her hair hanging down around her cheeks, she was shielded from shame. All she felt was pleasure, the heat of arousal and anticipation quickly spreading across her bare skin. She was so exposed, so _naughty_ as she waited for her king to rain down his blissful agony upon her. A spanking was what she deserved – what she had needed for so long, and it had taken the man who should have been her worst enemy no time at all to realise it. In the past, she had always felt too foolish to ask her partners to do this to her, fearing their scorn or their inexperience might put her off the act for good. Now, however, she was in the hands of a master. She did not flinch as he graced her with just a small demonstration of his power over her: a sharp, stinging smack that sent searing heat flooding through her veins. Just that one taste of pain set her on fire from the inside. She needed more; she was already soaking wet for it.

“What shall we say, Sarah? One strike for every stolen article of clothing? Or shall I simply beat you until you can't take any more?” He gave her another light, teasing swat, and she moaned as the impact rippled though her stinging flesh. Jareth laughed as she arched back for more. “Hungry girl. _Greedy_ girl. Yes, I think we'll take this as far as you can go,” he said, as his palm came down again, harder this time, and then again.

Sarah's mind played only buzzing, crackling static, empty of all meaning between those bright flares of pain. There was nothing beyond the breathless anticipation and the release of _everything_ at his firm hand. Even the wall she leaned on seemed in tune with her agony, radiating heat beneath her clammy palms every time Jareth's hand came crashing down. The entire room was made for her punishment, giving her no chance at escape, but salvation was the last thing on her mind. She needed it all; still, she needed _more_.

More than once, he slipped a hand between her thighs in between strikes, making sure her dripping pussy wasn't neglected. She was slick enough by then to cream his open palm, and it seemed to please him just to feel the heat of her pleasure as she absorbed the pain. Less often, he would seek out the tight bud of her clit and just _tap_ softly, crooning to her, telling her what a _naughty_ thing she was to be so wet. He was careful not to take her over the edge, but he did it until her body tensed and her breath stilled in anticipation, only for him to leave her wanting. When she wriggled and whined that the fun was over, he laughed and resumed his hard, steady strikes to her tender bottom. It was hell and the devil was relentless in his torment, but Sarah had never, _ever_ been so turned on.

He gave her the sweet pain she craved, and in return he took from her everything she had left to offer. Her body was his, as were the desperate thoughts that curled around her conflicted mind. She deserved this. She needed to be put in her place. She had driven the Goblin King to this explicit display of ownership, and she needed to find a way to tell him once and for all that she would _never_ belong to anyone but herself … but more than anything, she needed him to hold her down and just _fuck_ the right words out of her.

“Oh, fuck, please – _please_ ,” she begged, when the spanking stopped, but his helpful hand did not come to play with her cunt. Her body gave a violent jerk when she felt his warm exhale on her stinging ass, and when she felt the hard line of his teeth drag across her skin, her knees almost buckled. “Oh, I can't take it any more. Lick me … please … _fuck_ me. Oh, god … Jareth, just put _something_ in me!”

“Mmm … ready to come, sweet Sarah? Is there nothing more important in the world right now than for this wet little pussy to have what it needs?” He was merciless as he stroked a single fingertip along her slick seam.

“Fuck you – fuck _me_ ,” she wailed.

Behind her, Jareth chuckled. The fine silk of his hair tickled at her back once more as he bent his head to her. Sarah felt the briefest nuzzle of his lips at the small of her back; she felt the points of his teeth and was reminded of that beautiful, terrible skull mask. She gave a loud moan as his tongue painted a hot stripe along the length of her spine. As he loomed over her prone body, moulding himself to every bare inch, reawakening the still-smouldering pain in her buttocks and thighs, Jareth smiled and bit at her nape. His hard cock nudged between her legs, urging her to open wider for him, angling herself for him to have her.

“Tell me now, in this moment, that I hold no power over you, Sarah. Say it, _mean_ it, and I'll surrender half my kingdom to you. Lie, however, and you agree to forfeit yourself to me like this – oh, _just_ like this – every All Hallow's Eve from now on. Remain silent, and after all this time, we'll both know who truly won.”

Even in her distress, her desperation to be filled, there was only one answer she could give. “No … power,” she gasped. “No power over me, and you know it.”

Jareth's chest rumbled with laughter. “Oh, such an _exquisite_ lie. You love this, don't you? It makes you wetter than ever to be under my command. If I told you I was going to take you, fuck you, bent over just like this in front of all my guests, letting them enjoy your submission just as much as I do … you'd let me, wouldn't you? That's how much you need this.”

His fingertips brushed yet more fire over her abused flesh, and she sobbed out in ecstasy into the dark room. The answer was yes – of course it was yes – but the sexy and sadistic king didn't get to make her feel small just because he had found her weakness. She adjusted her limp and aching body so that her head was held a little higher. “You can fuck me all you want, Jareth.” She could almost feel his gloating, and quickly pushed on. “You can take me and you can spank me, humiliate me, even leave every last part of me drenched in your come, if that's what you really need to feel in control … but it won't make your subjects forget that I beat your pathetic labyrinth. They'll never forget, no matter what you do to me, that _I fucked you first_.”

The silence her words wrought was deafening, and she hardly dared even to breathe in it. Waiting for him was like a physical ache unfurling inside her, threatening to overpower her. She almost sobbed when at last he spoke again.

“My gods, you're beautiful like this. I can only imagine how you'd look with a crop or a whip in your hand, full of fire and fury. Do you have any idea how magnificent you are at this moment? How utterly delicious I find it that you'll submit only to me, if just for an evening? I could play with you forever and you'd never, ever break. Do you have any idea just how much that makes me want you?” He ran a hand along the full length of her back, from between her shoulder-blades all the way down to the stinging globes of her bottom. The lecherous king chuckled as she trembled and then bucked at the contact, snarling at him like some feral cat. _He_ had made her wild that way. Sarah heard his soft inhale, felt the tickle of his hair against her skin as he bent down to kiss the small of her back once more. It was the start of a slower, more sinful trail; his arms encircled her waist as he moved in behind her, closer and closer until his kisses reached the tender nape of her neck. The heavy silk of his voice caressed her ear. “Of course you do, precious, _wicked_ thing … because you want me, too.”

Sarah nodded with no hesitation. “Yes,” she groaned, “and I don't want you to be gentle.”

His hands moved to her shoulders, raising her up and away from the wall, turning her, urging her to look into those deep, lust-darkened eyes. “Oh, Sarah … after all this, do you really think I could?”

He had her in his arms before she could draw her next breath, his lips hot and hard against hers. The way he kissed her had to break laws in both their worlds. He possessed her mouth with the sinful slip of his tongue, and the explicit nip of his teeth against her lower lip. Sarah gripped at all that soft hair, needing him nearer, needing him to absorb the full depth of her emotion as she moaned into his mouth. He might have fucked her with the rest of his clothes still on, but she begged him out of them, needing the smoothness and heat of his bare skin, tearing at all the layers he wore until he was as naked as she. She longed to touch all of him, but his need to have her was stronger.

In the next moment she found herself thrust back against the wall, the abrasive stone igniting new fire in her sore bottom. Her hips rolled with restless desire, seeking friction, anxious to have him inside her. She breathed out a tremulous whimper as he raised her right leg high, drawing it up around his hip as she braced both hands upon the wall above her head. She could feel the hectic pulse they made together, both in the warm, buzzing stone under her hands and through Jareth as he moved himself into place. He was breathing hard as he pushed up into her, holding her up and open, killing her with that deliberate slowness. Sarah cried out his name, exclaiming at that new fullness, begging for more than just that wide tip of him that was not enough, and yet still far too much for her to possibly take. She wanted all of him. She needed it. Jareth's dark gaze seared into hers as he slowly, slowly lowered her down onto his cock.

They soon found their rhythm: a hard and bruising pace that gave her little time to adjust to that thickness which fucked all sorts of obscene sounds from her open mouth. The Goblin King made her his in rough, furious thrusts, hitting harder, further inside her than she had taken any other man, pounding his way far deeper into her soul than someone like him had any right to be. Time escaped them as he moved inside her, caring for nothing but the hard drive of his hips, the slick joining of their bodies, the perfect grip of his hands as he worked her along his throbbing shaft.

“Isn't that better, love?” he panted into the humid air between them. “A real cock – _my_ cock.”

She didn't look away – didn't give him the satisfaction of shaming her while he brought her such pleasure. “Fuck me … _fuck me_ ,” she chanted, holding his gaze, holding him tight inside her body as the force of his thrusts almost drove her apart. She wouldn't let him withdraw all the way, keeping him deep and hard, rocking her hips as much as their position allowed, squeezing down on him to keep him at her mercy even as all that delicious tension at the core of her began to unravel. She had the feeling that their encounter so far had been hidden from the gathered guests outside, their sounds silenced, but when he made her come – come _screaming_ – he would want the whole castle to hear. She was determined to take him with her.

As she surrendered herself to pleasure, she threw her arms around his neck, letting him take her weight, letting him take _everything_ as her climax juddered through her very bones, and her lover made her see stars. At great distance, she heard her own desperate sobs, and heard Jareth's own deep groan as he came with her, the hands that held her squeezing down with a force that would leave her marked for days as he spent himself inside her.

There were more kisses, the warm afterglow of shared pleasure before their bodies untangled at last. As Sarah came back down to earth, she could feel herself shivering, though the dark room had not grown cold. Her legs trembled as she came stumbling away from the wall, doing her utmost to ignore just how delicious the Goblin King looked in the aftermath. Naked and still half-hard, his pale hair wild around his head and his glittering make-up smeared across his cheeks, she knew just how easy it would be to fall back under his spell, no magic needed that strange night. The heat of him inside her still remained. As much as she wanted to rekindle it, she decided it was far safer to go gathering up her fallen clothes. Jareth only watched her, amusement plain in those mismatched eyes.

“Leaving so soon? I rather thought you'd want to stay and play a little longer.”

“It's a tempting offer, but I'm going to have to pass. I know how long you'd try to keep me here, if you had your way. Oh, and I'm wearing these home,” she told him as she hoisted up her borrowed breeches, uncaring of the socks and panties she had left behind. She was reasonably certain there were no dark rituals the Goblin King could perform with her underwear. In any case, if he really wanted her at his mercy, a few well-placed strokes of his hand would be more effective than magic, any day. Spanking or fingering, she would be lost in a heartbeat. She smirked at the ridiculousness of it as she snatched up the stolen shirt. The soft material formed a brief white sanctuary around her head before she tugged it down, but it did nothing to shield her from Jareth's smugness.

“You're welcome to keep them on a little longer,” he purred, as though she had bothered to ask. “I look forward to having them back, smelling of you – of us. They'll be unwearable of course; I don't think I'll ever be able to bring myself to wash the stains of _victory_ off them. Although I must admit, the thought of walking amongst my subjects, discreetly marked by your passion for me, is strangely tempting.”

“With how much you love yourself, I'm surprised more of your clothes aren't come-stained. Besides, you're not getting them back. They suit me best.” Even without a mirror, she knew it was true. With half of her lover's make-up staining her cheeks, her hair down and loose, damp with sweat and no doubt tangled to hell, she had no doubt that she made for a strange yet striking soldier as she pulled that hussar's jacket back on. Jareth could do his very best to conquer her – hell, she'd probably enjoy it if he did – but she would never give surrender. At least not permanently.

“I think you suit it best when you wear nothing at all – a lovely little fact I'll be sure to think of often.”

Sarah spared him a withering look, but Jareth's lewd grin remained firmly in place. He'd had her, and now his royal highness seemed content to just lounge around in their impromptu love den, shoulders resting on the wall he had fucked her against, his pleasure-lidded gaze only on her as she slipped on her boots. He was wholly unashamed, still naked and half-hard, and wet with the pleasure they'd made together. The expression on his face was that of the proverbial cat who'd lapped up every last drop of the cream, all at his leisure. In his mind, the victory she had claimed over him so many years ago had been outweighed by this new development between them. He thought he had won. As much as she'd enjoyed putting it there, Sarah thought it was time to wipe that smile off his face. It was time to remind him once again that he would never truly win.

It was clear Jareth expected nothing more than a shy, timid exit from her. “Keep running away. Keep playing your games of avoidance and defiance, by all means, but we both know you'll be back – the same time next year, I believe we agreed? Unless, of course, you intend to go back on your word.”

“No, I'll be here. I want an official invite next time, though. And you can pick me out a mask and a new outfit.” Her demands surprised a laugh out of him, and she used his distraction to scoop the pile of his clothes up in her arms. It was all there: shirt and suit-coat, and those sinfully tight pants. Sarah smirked as she added them all to her load, and left him only his tall boots. She took steps towards the door, two and then three, and watched Jareth's smile fall as he realised she wasn't handing anything over.

“What are you do-” He frowned and came closer as she continued to back away. “Stop that. Where do you think you're going with those?”

Sarah grinned and flung open the door, laughing herself as Jareth grunted and shrank back from the sudden light and noise of the party that assailed them. The arrogance was wiped off his face entirely as he straightened up, cupping both hands over his crotch. He looked just as lost as Sarah herself had once felt, surrounded by strangers in masks, looking for a way out. How she loved seeing that look on him.

“Oh, I'll send these ones back – eventually,” she said, savouring the panic in the Goblin King's stare, grinning as she began to back away into the crowd. Several pairs of eyes turned towards them, but she was sure to raise her voice to grab the attention of a few more. “Please don't worry about it, Your Highness, I hear it happens to every man once in a while. And hey, if it makes you feel any better, I think it's really sweet when a man cries after sex. You don't have to be embarrassed.” She wished she could have framed Jareth's look of outrage. Laughing, she tucked the clothes she had stolen under her arm and used her free hand to blow him a kiss. “I'll see you next year, Goblin King. Oh, and have a Happy Halloween!”

She left him there, wide-eyed and bare-assed, on the cusp of one of his kingdom's largest gatherings, seething with anger. Sarah threaded her way through the throngs of gasping and giggling party-goers, ignoring the surprised looks her wild appearance drew. She was still bubbling over with laughter, still clutching her stolen treasures in her arms, all but crowing her victory as she darted down the castle's darkened hallway. She had a feeling that Jareth wouldn't be following her any time soon. By the time he had figured a way out of that room, she would be long gone. Next year, he would be out for her blood, determined to get his revenge, but she had plenty of time to plot out her own little tricks before then. It didn't change the fact that she had put a serious dent in his reputation and left him with not a stitch of clothing to wear, and with an inquisitive crowd of guests all straining for a peek at his crown jewels.

With all his powers, the Goblin King might find some way of covering up, sparing him the shame of having to walk through that crowd dressed in just his boots … but if he _didn't_ …

Well, the lucky guests at the party were in for one hell of a treat that night.

One way or another, Sarah was sure she would find out next Halloween.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are curious about what the other option would have entailed...well, let's just say that Sarah would have gotten a taste of sitting in Jareth's throne after all, with a certain king's willing tongue ready to give her all the treats she could possibly want ;) Maybe next year...


End file.
